


beyond repentance

by WeeBeastie



Category: Black Sails
Genre: BDSM, Blasphemy, Explicit Sexual Content, Flint is Jesus, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Paddling, Religion Kink, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Silver is Judas, Yep I went there, you read that correctly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 17:50:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14598450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeeBeastie/pseuds/WeeBeastie
Summary: judas, betrayest thou the son of man with a kiss?





	beyond repentance

**Author's Note:**

> So this is what happens when I talk with purplecelery about the Met ball and how I would’ve dressed as Norman Reedus in Lady Gaga’s “Judas” video, and that discussion spins off into ‘hey what if I wrote Silverflint porn to that effect’ as these things so often do. 
> 
> There are lots of biblical references here. It is also gay and a bit filthy, and there’s BDSM. If some combination of those things upsets you, don’t read this!
> 
> Title borrowed from the aforementioned Gaga song; summary borrowed from the actual Bible because I’m terrible.

_Fresno, California_

“I fold,” their lord and savior sighs, putting down his cards. 

“Come on,” Silver says, looking up at him with a little grin. “Your hand can’t be that bad. Are you or are you not the son of God?” he teases. 

Flint smiles, all teeth. 

“Holy parentage doesn’t help you with Texas Hold Em,” Miranda says with a smile, putting her winning hand on the table for all the Apostles to see, then raking in their bets for herself.

As they all groan and mutter bitterly about their losses, Flint stands from his chair and crooks a finger at Silver. He goes willingly, following Flint to the back of their hacienda, to his private office. His lair. 

Silver shuts the door behind himself and sits in the folding chair on the near side of the large, polished, dark wood desk. Flint sits behind it in his rather throne-like desk chair, taking his long red hair down from its ponytail and shaking it out. He’s distractingly beautiful, to Silver - truly a holy image. He’s muscular, but not worryingly thin like some of the twinks Silver has seen strung out in the clubs on Friday nights. He’s got heft to him, presence. It’s hard to look right at him without your eyes crossing a little. 

“You wanted to see me?” Silver asks, leaning back in the chair with his arms across his chest. It’s a hot day (but when isn’t it, in Fresno), and he can feel sweat sticking his back to his shirt to the chair. 

“Yeah,” Flint says, folding his freckled arms on his desk and leaning in, close to Silver. “I’ve been made to understand that one of you is going to betray me,” he says, his verdant green eyes searching Silver’s face. His eyelashes are the same red as his hair and- well, Silver feels he can’t be blamed if his only thought in that moment is ‘what a piece of work is man.’

“Is it me?” Silver asks, feeling the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He hasn’t been a member of this gang for as long as some of the others, but he already knows it’s virtually impossible to lie to this man. 

“You said it,” Flint murmurs, tucking Silver’s dark curls behind his ear. “How much money did they offer you, Silver, huh? I wonder.” He leans in further, his lips moving against Silver’s ear as he speaks. “Woe unto that man by whom the son of man is betrayed,” he whispers. 

“It isn’t me,” Silver says, fingers curling around the edges of the folding chair, knuckles gone white. “My lord, I swear. I would never.”

“Prove it,” Flint says then, standing, his palms braced on the desk. He peers imperiously down at Silver, making him feel very small indeed. “Prove your fealty to me, you Judas. Show me that your loyalty to me, your love for me, remains as unwavering as ever it was.”

“Whatever you ask of me, I’ll do,” Silver says, standing, his hands up in supplication. “I love you. You know that.”

For a long moment, Flint just looks at him. Then he gestures for Silver to join him behind the desk. 

“Bend over. Brace your hands on my desk and don’t move unless I tell you,” he says, and Silver is helpless to do anything but comply. 

Then Flint is behind him, unfastening his leather pants - whose idea was it for them to wear black leather in the desert, anyway? - and pulling them down around his thighs. Silver chances a quick look over his shoulder and sees Flint selecting from an impressive collection of toys he keeps behind his desk. He chooses a purple-and-black leather jack, which makes Silver’s hair stand on end. _God_ , but he wants to know how that feels. 

“Are you ready to take your punishment?” Flint asks, running one hand down Silver’s back to his ass, giving it a squeeze. 

“Yes,” Silver murmurs, his palms on the desk, his shoulders tense. He waits, anticipating. He doesn’t wear anything under his leathers, ever, so with his pants pulled down like this he’s laid utterly bare. 

“Don’t tense up,” Flint advises him, running a hand up his back to briefly clutch at his long hair. “It’ll hurt more.”

Silver exhales and tries not to brace himself as Flint steps back. He hears the leather jack moving through the air before it strikes him; it lands with a dull thud that makes his whole body wake up. 

“Jesus fuck,” Silver groans, and hears Flint chuckle behind him. He hears thunder roll outside and a downpour begins; it doesn’t hardly ever rain in the desert but it’s raining now. Flint’s moods - they can change nature. 

“You want more?” Silver hears him ask, and he moans in response, pushing his hips back towards Flint, his body pleading with him. Flint strikes him again, and again and again, and it feels so good he starts rubbing against the desk without meaning to. He needs- something, anything. 

“Please,” he whimpers, fingers curling against the surface of the desk. 

Flint paddles him with a steady rhythm, letting it build until his skin is bright and his blood is singing. Silver cries out, begging, praying outright for mercy. Finally, when he feels like he can’t possibly take it anymore, Flint stops. He feels Flint manhandling him and then he’s on his back on the desk, staring wild-eyed up at his savior. 

“Are you sorry for betraying me?” Flint asks, smoothing one hand over Silver’s lower belly. “Do you repent?” he asks, his voice steady, low. Always in control. 

“Yes, I am sorry,” Silver says, gulping air, trying to catch his breath. “I repent. Help me, please.”

“Say it,” Flint says, wrapping a hand around his cock and starting to stroke him. Silver shouts, and can’t form coherent thoughts for a moment. “Say it, you know what I want,” Flint says softly. 

“Hail Mary, full of grace,” Silver says in a rush as lightning flashes outside. “The Lord is with thee; blessed art thou-” He keens, unable to hold himself back. When the thunder roars again, he does his best to focus and go on: “-among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus,” he says, staring Flint in the eye as he says that name. “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.”

“Amen,” Flint rumbles, and Silver comes so hard he almost blacks out. 

When he returns to himself, Flint is carefully cleaning him up with a damp cloth he produced from who knows where. Silver relaxes back on Flint’s desk with a quiet sigh, listening to the rain falling on the roof. Rain in the desert - it’s practically a miracle. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it? Absolving yourself of your sins?” Flint asks with a little smile. 

“No,” Silver agrees. “It wasn’t hard. It felt good,” he says, looking up at Flint. 

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Flint says, sounding pleased. He helps Silver back into his pants and takes him by the hand, leading him away from the office. Silver realizes suddenly that he’s being taken to Flint’s bedroom - the highest, holiest honor. Ordinarily only Miranda is allowed in there (which has earned her a certain unfair reputation outside their organization; she always says ‘judge not lest ye be judged, motherfuckers’ and leaves it at that).

Flint sheds his clothes - leather pants, tank top, studded vest - without an ounce of shame once they’re alone in the master bedroom, and Silver does the same after only a moment’s hesitation. They curl up in bed together, the room lit an eerie blue by the thunderstorm outside. 

“Forgive yourself,” Flint purrs in the dark, cupping Silver’s face in one hand and leaning in to give him a long, lingering kiss. “I forgive you.”

—

Weeks later, Silver gives Flint a kiss just like that one, a signal to let their enemies in the room know which man is to be the target of assassination. 

Flint, sad-eyed in a glittering gold crown of thorns, says, “Oh, _Silver_. You’ll regret this.” He knows. He’s known the whole time; Silver is aware of that. There is no lying to this man. 

“I don’t care,” Silver murmurs in his ear, trembling with the weight of the truth upon him, like a millstone around his neck. 

“You will,” Flint whispers. He’s resplendent, glowing, holy. He’s unlike any man Silver has ever looked upon. 

Silver does care, of course - but by then it’s too late.


End file.
